


Pure White

by CriticalQueer



Series: A Simple Request [2]
Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Communication about sex, F/F, Feelings with some porn, Hurt/comfort kind of, I don't know how to tag this, Just read the notes..., anxiety during sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-27
Updated: 2018-06-27
Packaged: 2019-05-29 05:27:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15066143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CriticalQueer/pseuds/CriticalQueer
Summary: Relieved to find that Beau hadn’t awoken, Yasha felt like she had a plan: give Beau everything she wanted, make an excuse, wait for her to fall asleep, then touch herself before she exploded from the waiting. It wasn’t perfect but it was the only thing she knew how to do.Yasha fell asleep, daring to hope that this could work out between them.It was a great plan until the night Beau woke up.Continuation of my previous work, 'A Simple Request' but this is DEFINITELY less of a porno.





	Pure White

**Author's Note:**

> Warning that I didn't know how to tag: This involves a lot of anxiety about sex, specifically receiving. It involves a couple flashbacks to people being not-so-great about that. If you have any suggestions about how to better tag this work, please leave a comment.
> 
> This is a spin-off story from the last thing I wrote, 'A Simple Request'. I had so many people leave great comments about it that I wanted to write some kind of elaboration on one of the flashbacks from that story. What I wrote is distinctly NOT the hot, orgasm control porn that I produced in the last story. This is a look into Yasha's perspective on a couple of Beau's flashbacks from the original story. And it's full of parts of my own anxiety melded with what I think might be going on in Yasha's head. If you're a fan of the Widomauk stories that involve Caleb struggling with his own anxiety and Molly being a total sweetheart about it, then this is probably going to be your thing.
> 
> And for those of you who want to read something else like 'A Simple Request', please leave a comment on this work or that work telling me which of Beau's other flashbacks you would like a full story on..... because I'm totally down for writing more smut. :)

Many things came easily to Yasha. Fighting, for one; rage, for another. She breathed combat; lost herself in the swings and blows, the way a sword could sink itself deeply into her skin but barely make her flinch, and the sound of her greatsword effortlessly severing muscle and bone. Yasha knew other Barbarians and had heard them describe rage as an extreme, all-consuming anger that pushed them further and made them stronger. For her, though, rage came in the form of pure white nothingness that quieted her thoughts and drove her in only one direction. It was an escape from everything; the happiest she ever thought she could be.

 

Other things did not come as easily. Emotions were hard; describing them was impossible. Trying to think only one thought at a time was a constant battle she couldn’t use her strength to win, and quieting the swirling nonsense in her mind long enough to produce a complete sentence during times of great importance was her ultimate downfall. For that reason, she was never able to keep people in her life for very long. Her face was permanently set to neutral and she kept her mouth shut out of fear of saying the wrong thing, or tripping over her words as her thoughts pulled her in every direction. 

 

People tended to view Yasha as having no emotions, except rage during battle. 

 

That couldn’t have been further from the truth. 

 

But Beau, the strikingly beautiful, tan-skinned Monk sleeping beside her had a way of avoiding her mask altogether. Beau didn’t expect Yasha to say much of anything; she could read every inch of her like a book. And Yasha took her cues from Beau in return, who also lacked a way with words that rivalled her own. 

 

It had been a month, maybe more, since the two of them took watch together. Beau first laid her head on Yasha’s chest and sent her thoughts spiraling wildly out of control. A thousand things to say appeared and disappeared from her mind, countless scenarios playing out about what Beau might ask her next, what Beau might be expecting of her. She placed an arm around the monk’s tiny frame to buy herself some time, and almost melted when it brought Beau even closer. Yasha finally settled on naming the constellations for her, just trying to find something to say, to keep the conversation something she could control, something she could participate in. But as night after night passed and the two spent more time touching each other, Yasha quickly realized that in those moments, Beau wasn’t expecting many words from her at all. Yasha didn’t have to fill the silence.

 

And tonight- well, tonight, Beau had been anything but silent. In what was easily the hottest experience of Yasha’s life, kissing and touching had given way to wandering hands. Somehow, Yasha had caused Beau to want to shed her clothing and beg to be touched, raising her hips and grinding her wetness all over Yasha’s thigh. And she obliged; Beau’s body gave her all the direction she needed, but still she asked just to be sure, and the breathless  _ yes  _ she received in response lit her heart on fire. It took time to perfect her touches, but she was no stranger to the female form, and knew where and how to touch her to make sounds come from her mouth that she never knew Beau could make. Touching Beau was simple, yet amazing. Yasha was addicted from the start.

 

But now, after Beau had come, curled into her arms, resurfacing with a desire to do the same to Yasha burning in her eyes, and disappointedly curling back up when Yasha explained she was on her period, there was no way the Aasimar could sleep with a white-hot fire between her legs. She wasn’t on her period. She just didn’t want to have to explain.

 

_ A younger Yasha found herself in a similar situation with a black-haired beauty of a girl years ago. Lyra. Her passion was incredible; the sound of her reaching her climax nearly sent Yasha coming untouched into her pants, but left her maddeningly on the edge. Lyra tried to reciprocate, pulling down Yasha’s smallclothes and sliding her tongue into Yasha’s folds, but the abrupt burst of sensation sent her hips recoiling back. She chased Yasha’s body with her mouth, darting her tongue back in, licking from Yasha’s entrance all the way up to her clit in a series of quick, hard bursts. Yasha couldn’t bear the touch, writhing and twisting in all the wrong ways to dodge the overstimulation. _

 

_ “What’s wrong?” Lyra stared up with piercing green eyes. _

 

_ “I don’t…” Yasha’s sentence trailed off as she had no idea how to finish it.  _

 

_ “Try again?” _

 

_ Yasha nodded, closing her eyes, tipping her head back and bringing her hands up to her face. Lyra tried her fingers this time, but although Yasha was quite literally dripping with wetness, as soon as she tried to slip two into her entrance, Yasha was hit with so much all at once, widening and stretching sensations coupled with fingers moving strangely in a part of her no one had ever touched. Lyra’s fingers felt so fast and rough; Yasha could barely tell where she was touching before she moved to another place. It made Yasha’s thoughts race, a mess of self-deprecating words about why she couldn’t just enjoy it, why she wasn’t past the precipice she almost stumbled over moments ago.  _

 

_ It was so loud, and everything was so much, that Yasha brought her hand into her mouth and bit down where her thumb met her palm and wrist, trying to keep herself from saying no, trying to force her mind into the beautiful whiteness she felt when rage overtook her. But it never came, and soon, Yasha’s hips betrayed her discomfort and she pulled herself away from Lyra, feeling only relief when the girl’s fingers weren’t inside of her anymore. _

 

_ Panic rose in her throat and she could barely speak, curling herself up into a ball as Lyra grew increasingly more confused, demanding to know why Yasha wasn’t attracted to her. Yasha’s mouth had no words (although her mind had too many), still unable to stop feeling the ghosts of her fingers and tongue between her legs. _

 

_ Lyra never spoke to her again after that night, and Yasha was almost glad. She didn’t know what was wrong with her or how to explain it, anyways. _

 

Chasing away memories of the first of many disastrous one-night stands and fledgling relationships torn up by Yasha’s… whatever this was, she still had the yearning and the wanting to contend with. Yasha wasn’t asexual; not by a long shot. She just needed an amount of slowness and care that most girls would hate if she was to try to do it to them. Yasha took care of herself because she knew exactly what she wanted to do, and didn’t have to explain it to anyone. She didn’t have to worry about  _ yes _ and  _ no _ ,  _ slower _ or  _ faster _ , or anyone else’s expectations of what  _ should _ feel good. She could just relax into the sensations she could control and the freshly made memories of finally touching Beau.

 

She felt dirty reaching down to her waistband right next to Beau’s sleeping form, but there was absolutely no alternative at this point, no other way for Yasha to quiet the pounding heartbeat between her legs. So she slipped one finger past her lips, briefly astonished at just how wet she was, and caressed her clit just once at first. Yasha waited for the sensation to peak before she repeated the touch, this time staying on her skin, circling slowly and gliding down to her entrance, but then moving back up to her starving clit. A gasp caught in her throat and it reminded her of the breathless, wild noises Beau made that night. Yasha continued this pattern of feather-light touches until she was on the edge, holding herself there for a moment or two, before using more decisive circles to push herself over, allowing release to surge through her body like lightning. Her fingertips moved even more lightly as the sensitivity increased tenfold during the ebbing waves of her orgasm. 

 

Relieved to find that Beau hadn’t awoken, Yasha felt like she had a plan: give Beau everything she wanted, make an excuse, wait for her to fall asleep, then touch herself before she exploded from the waiting. It wasn’t perfect but it was the only thing she knew how to do.

 

Yasha fell asleep, daring to hope that this could work out between them.

  
  


It was a great plan until the night Beau woke up.

 

Yasha had just touched herself to climax, imagining the wordless gasps and moans Beau made under Yasha’s tongue. The aftershocks buzzed rhythmically through her body and she rolled over to one side, trying to catch her breath, savoring the last of the release and letting it travel through her body like electricity. Everything was perfect until she felt a hand on her hip.

 

Knowing she had been caught, Yasha pulled her knees up to her chest and her arms around herself, as if she could pull her body into a small enough form to just disappear. Yasha’s mind began to race, filling itself with dozens of iterations of the horrible scene that was about to unfold, attempting to prep her with the answers to all the questions Beau was bound to ask, but only serving to bombard her with meaningless strings of syllables and apologies.

 

She hoped this was a mistake, that Beau somehow was none the wiser. “Did you see?” Yasha could barely wait for a response.

 

“Yes,”

 

Her heart sank.

 

“And it was-”

 

“Pathetic.” That was the word she screamed in her own head every time she failed to meet her lover’s expectations.  _ Pathetic. Pathetic. Pathetic.  _ It happened every time Yasha had tried to explain what she wanted; some combination of the woman’s disappointment and disdain, coupled with the racing thoughts and insecurities throughout her mind, caused a crescendo of doubt and insults to fill her head.

 

Yasha could remember leading another woman into the forest when she was younger, ready too make love to each other, but their eagerness and lust cut short when she tried to explain. Her thoughts turned into the sound of the woman’s voice, berating her for recoiling from her hasty fingers.  _ I didn’t follow you into the woods for foreplay,  _ and  _ Yasha, let me taste you, _ and  _ Why can’t you stop moving away,  _ the words flung at her like knives, albeit far less sharp than the daggers in her own head. Yasha could still hear the girl’s footsteps leaving, could still feel the bark of the tree scraping her back as she crumbled to the forest floor. She could still hear the sound of her own voice shouting inside her mind,  _ Pathetic. You fucked it up again. _ But she wasn’t just hearing it as a memory; it was now. With Beau.  _ You Fucked It Up With Beau. _

 

Words cut through her loud memories and deafening thoughts. “No, that was- you were- absolutely beautiful.” Beau’s voice, a whisper, with no trace of malice, no trace of disappointment. “Why didn’t you tell me you liked it gentle?”

 

Hundreds of sentences starting with the word ‘Because’ clamored to come from her mouth, but Yasha couldn’t evaluate any of them. Her mind was still trying to process the words, ‘Liked it gentle’; it was infinitely superior to her own phrases for the problem- ‘Broken’- and it almost made her feel normal.

 

Yasha eventually settled on this: “Because I know that you don’t. And I love being rough with you, giving it to you like that is all I really need. I’ll be okay if that’s all we do. I can just finish myself after.” She hated every single one of those words, had no idea if they expressed any of the feelings swirling in her head. This was so uncomfortable, but just thinking about the possibility of Beau being okay with her touching herself in the same bed made her try to produce something, anything, to capture what she wanted. 

 

“Hey, no, don’t think like that. I like what I like, but I want to give it to you the way you like.” At Beau’s words, Yasha’s breath caught in her throat. “I’ll go as slow as you want. I’ll learn. I just want you to look like that one day, and it’s me who got you there.” 

 

Heart beating out of her chest and words barely coming out as a whisper, Yasha could only say the unedited truth; the first thing in her mind. “No one else has said that.” Not in all the nights she had spent with another person in her bed. “No one has ever tried.”  _ And I never knew how to even ask. _

 

The rest was a jumble of words and thoughts and feelings, none of which made any sense until Beau’s arms were around her, giving her something concrete to focus on, a message she knew couldn’t contain any lies. Then, Beau’s voice said something she had never heard before.

 

“I want to try.”

 

Yasha had never felt so warm.

 

A few days later, in a different tavern, Yasha lay next to a panting and shaking Monk. Their hearts were both racing, Beau’s moans still ringing in her head. She licked the last of Beau’s arousal from her lips and fingers. 

 

Yasha was suddenly aware of her own body, realizing there was wetness sliding down her thigh and a fire between her legs. 

 

Beau turned to her and looked her over, smiling that signature lesbian half-smile that always made her weak. “Your turn?” she asked, biting her bottom lip, adding kindling and fanning the flames.

 

Nervous and fighting those racing thoughts again, Yasha nodded slowly, and a partially convinced Beau sat upright, taking her hand. “Only if you want it. You say stop, I stop. Every time.” She followed her sentence with a kiss on Yasha’s hand and a promise: “If it doesn’t work out, I’ll still want you just as much.”

 

So many doubts and reservations and protests, loudly vying for attention in her head, vanished as Beau brushed away the worst-case-scenario. Although this was terrifying, if she could believe what Beau said, it was worth a shot.

 

“Okay. Yes.” Yasha sat up to pull the Monk into a kiss before she started. After letting go, Yasha nervously brought her knees up to her chest, but then relaxed herself halfway, leaving her back curled against the headboard, her legs half bent, and her face at equal height with Beau’s, who was kneeling next to her.

 

The next few minutes dissolved into a familiar heaven for Yasha. She thought Beau would jump straight into it, but instead, she started with things that weren’t new at all: kisses on her neck, fingers on her abs and chest, tongue on her nipples through the breastband Yasha wasn’t ready to remove just yet. And it all worked, the dampened fire re-emerging in full force. She tangled her fingers into Beau’s hair and whined softly, wishing she was touching herself right now. Her clit was  _ aching _ and her hands balled into little fists, trying to stop themselves from travelling down to take care of what they needed to do.

 

The Monk, whining slightly at the gentle pull on her hair, moved one of her own hands to just above Yasha’s waistband, instructing, “Put your hand over mine.” The Aasimar did as she was told, letting go of Beau’s head and laying her large hand over Beau’s much smaller one. “Now show me what you want to do.”

 

That was it. That was all she needed. Through nervousness and apprehension, Yasha guided Beau’s hand inside of her smallclothes and ever-so-slightly brushed Beau’s tiny fingertips over her swollen clit. 

 

Yasha immediately recoiled and pulled Beau’s hand out of her pants on reflex, not even giving herself enough time to process the feeling. She brought her eyes up to meet Beau’s to check for anger or frustration, but the Monk’s face was soft, gazing at her attentively. 

 

“That’s okay, we can stop for now,” Beau suggested, the genuine smile on her face melting away Yasha’s momentary panic.

 

“No, um, I can try again.”

 

“Are you sure? You don’t have to,” Beau replied.

 

Yasha sat up just enough to place a kiss onto her lips. “I want to.”

 

And they tried again. Just like the first time, Yasha fit her lover’s hand into hers and brought it down her body and under her waistband. When they made contact, they both gasped, Beau from realizing how wet the Aasimar had become, and Yasha from how  _ okay _ this was, how familiar yet new the sensation of another’s hands could be. Yasha kept moving, touching herself with Beau’s fingers, bringing them up and down from her entrance to the tip, circling around the latter with such gentle force, it made Yasha’s head throw back and her hips buck upwards in pleasure.

 

“Okay, I think I can do that,” Beau breathed, and for the first time since they started touching, Yasha opened her eyes. Beau was staring at her, black pupils dilated almost completely inside of her piercing blue eyes, unable to rip them from her lover’s face. Yasha slowly pulled her hand away and instead rested it on the side of Beau’s cheek, beckoning her into a breathless kiss.

 

Beau’s hand continued just as it had been shown; gentle, so fucking gentle, bringing Yasha closer. Her toes curled into the blankets beneath her as she started moaning Celestial into Beau’s mouth, struggling to kiss and breathe and talk and want all at the same time. There was nothing in Yasha’s mind; all her loud thoughts and apprehensions had disappeared, leaving behind the pure whiteness she could only compare to rage, but absolutely full of emotion and sensation she had never felt before. The only words she could think of were, “Yes, love,” which were spilling out of her mouth between gasps in the hottest, most wrecked, least holy Celestial she had ever spoken. 

 

Yasha came with only Beau’s incredible fingers below her belt, and in the aftermath of such a powerful and unexpected release, she melted into the Monk’s arms, satisfied and shaking and unable to find any way to show her how incredible she was, how unbelievably happy she had made her. But sleep found her before her thoughts came back, and she drifted off, happier than she had ever felt and so completely in love with the tiny girl wrapped around her. 

 

No overwhelming thoughts caught up to her in the night, and nothing shook her awake until the morning light streamed through her window, showing her she hadn’t imagined a thing. Beau was there, barely shaking off the veil of sleep, glancing up to her with bright blue eyes.

 

“You know, you lasted less than a minute,” the Monk teased. “I must have done a pretty good job.”

 

“The best,” breathed Yasha, and the two began to kiss once again.

 

She would  _ never _ get tired of the quiet calmness that only ever came from Beau.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Years ago, I was a rabid Sherlock fan and I read a lot of Johnlock fics that involved an anxiety-ridden Sherlock, who is either a virgin or who has had terrible sex experiences in the past, suddenly and magically able to have anxiety-free sex as soon as John Watson's Magical Cock is involved. This always bothered me a little because it's not that easy. Even if you are completely in love with your partner, anxiety is STILL a massive player in the relationship. Sex isn't going to be an easy fix.
> 
> When I wrote my last story, 'A Simple Request', I had not thought through Yasha's entire thing quite yet. At that time, in my mind, she just liked it gentle and past lovers had been weird about it. So I included the lines:
> 
> "And the next time they had sex, Yasha drained Beau of her unbridled horniness and nervous energy with her fingers and tongue, but instead of falling asleep, Beau brought Yasha over the edge in what couldn’t have been longer than thirty seconds, gentle caresses on her clit pulling soft moans and gasps in broken Celestial from the Aasimar’s lips. Beau swore it was the best sound in the world."
> 
> This kind of trapped me in a hole when I decided to write a sequel that included full descriptions of their first times. I realized how I wanted to write Yasha, but that didn't quite match up with the thirty second timeline I had given myself... so I compromised a bit and tried to make it work anyways. I apologize if this discontinuity bothers anyone but I would rather be discontinuous than support the absurd notion that anxiety, or any other mental or physical challenge, can be magically cured by love. 
> 
> So... there it is. This is nothing like A Simple Request but I wanted to post it anyways.
> 
> Please leave a comment if there's another flashback in the original that you would like me to elaborate on.


End file.
